


A Deal's A Deal

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Moriarty makes a deal with the crossroads demon Crowley. A deal that will punish those that wronged the previous nerd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Deal Is Struck

Children were cruel.

Not only children, but people.

Not just some people, all people. They don't like anything or anyone that's different. And forget about being smart. Not just "I got a 100% on my quiz and I'm getting all A's" but "he's reading at a secondary level and he's only 11" kind of smart.

That can be the best thing or the worst thing.

That can make you a target.

That can get your ass handed to you on a daily basis.

That's exactly what happened.

* * *

He was nervous. Rightly so. He was about to do something he had only read about in books, fairy tales really. Summoning a demon to make a deal? Never happened in real life.

Yet, here he stood, with a bowl of herbs, an incantation and a match poised against the box. He felt silly as he spoke the words, careful with the tricky accents. Summoning a demon was one thing. But to muck it up and summon something else entirely? Well, that was just plain stupid.

A flash of red erupted from the bowl as the lit match hit the herbs. He jumped back in surprise and covered his face as sparks accompanied the cloud of red smoke.

Coughing, he removed his glasses and swiped at damp eyes.

A husky voice drifted through the fading smoke. "Hello."

Replacing his glasses, the man side stepped until he was clear of the table. "H – hello."

The demon pushed his thick hands into his black trench coat. "Name's Crowley. What can I do for you?"

"I – I want to make a deal."

"Obviously. Otherwise you wouldn't have summoned me." Crowley gave the gangly gentleman a once over and didn't bother hiding his smirk. "Quit fidgeting."

Long fingered hands slapped behind his back, tangling together. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. So, first time?" The humor that lined Crowley's voice confused the lad.

His brows drew together in confusion. "What?"

Waving a hand through the air, Crowley rolled his eyes. "You want to make a deal. Here I am. Let's deal."

The man swallowed hard. The realization that this was happening was suddenly too much. "I – I'm not sure I can –"

"Let me stop you there, mate." Crowley looked over the summoner once again. "You obviously want something. You've been through some sort of trauma and are looking for… revenge?"

Nodding so that his glasses slid down his nose, he took a step closer to the crossroads demon.

With pride taking over his features, Crowley adjusted the front of his coat. "Revenge, I'm good at that."

"I want…"

"Yes?"

"Money."

Crowley gave another roll of his eyes. "Money? That's it?"

The man shrugged. "You need to know a proper amount?"

Crowley shook his head. "No, mate. It's just… money is money. You can have all the money in the world but without that extra OOMPH, it's just money."

"What do you suggest?"

The demon peered at the man across from him and slowly started circling him. "Judging by the size of that noggin, you're smart. Really, really smart. My guess is that you've been bullied and teased. Am I right?"

"Yeah. Hit the nail on the head, you did."

"So, your plan is, what exactly? Get some money and show them what you've made of yourself."

"Yeah."

"Rubbish plan, mate." Crowley chuckled deep in his throat.

The man crossed his arms over his chest defensively and huffed. "You got a better one?"

"I told you, I'm good at revenge."

Crowley laid out his idea, from beginning to end. It had everything the first plan didn't. Mystery, intrigue, friendship, betrayal, love, pain and maybe even a death; if he played his cards right.

He had to admit, the demon was very good at plotting revenge. "Say I take your idea and you make me a deal? What are the terms?"

Crowley smiled. Another sucker in line to give up his soul.

"You sign on the dotted line and you get ten years. Ten years to exact your revenge and get everything you ever wanted."

"What happens then?" Previously calmed nerves began to flare back to life.

"In ten years' time, I come and collect."

Brows drew together in confusion. "Collect? The money?"

Crowley waved his hand, again. "I couldn't care about the money, mate. Your soul. Your soul is the only thing I want out of this. You sign, you take what I give you and I get your soul."

That wasn't in the book he read. There was nothing written about giving up his soul. He rushed behind the table and picked up the thick, black book; scouring the aged pages until he came up empty handed. Nothing. There was nothing about losing his soul.

He felt the demon's eyes upon him and could tell that it was now or never. Sign or don't sign.

Sign and get everything he ever wanted.

Don't sign and go back to his job, making less than $20,000 pounds a year. Don't sign and go back to his empty flat. Don't sign and remain the loser he knew deep down he was.

He grit his teeth and set the book down. "You got a deal."

With a snap of his fingers, a piece of parchment appeared on the table. Crowley pulled a pen from inside his coat and held it out.

"Everything you ever wanted. All you have to do is sign."

Quickly, before he could change his mind, he snagged the pen from Crowley and scribbled his name on the dotted line.

_James Moriarty_

"Good, strong name, James." Crowley tucked the paper in his pocket and circled the table.

Suddenly nervous, James backed up. "Th – thanks. What are you doing? I signed the paper."

"You did. But that's not how we seal deals in Hell."

James swallowed hard. "Oh… um ok?"

Before James could turn tail and run, Crowley grabbed the young man by the shoulders and pressed their mouths together in a tight, not too friendly, deal making kiss.

James stumbled back and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

"Now, a warning."

Wide brown eyes burned with frustration. "NOW, a warning?!"

"Don't try and weasel out of this. If you do, I'll come and collect. It doesn't matter how much time you have left. There's no backing out." Crowley snapped loudly.

He started to protest but the demon had disappeared.

He had done it. He made a deal with a real live demon.

Ten years. Ten years was nothing when he had 25 years of bullying to make up for.

Suddenly filled with such confidence it made his inner loser scream for joy, James stood tall, his shoulders back and chin held high.

"This is going to be fun."


	2. The Great Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stuck pretty close to the script of 1x03 & the beginning of 2x01, changing a few things to fit with how I envision this story going.

Jim sat behind his desk, several monitors stood side by side, each screen housing different websites. His fingers flew over the keyboard, filling the room with the tapping sound of multiple keys. Even though he had plenty of people in his employment that could do exactly as he was, he enjoyed it too much; research. He loved how his mind absorbed even the tiniest detail, nothing went unread, untouched, and nothing was overlooked.

It had been nine years since he signed the contract with the demon named Crowley. My, how those years flew by.

James Moriarty died that night, and Jim was born.

If he closed his eyes and focused on that night, he could still feel the swell of his self-confidence. Buried deep in his chest, having been stomped on for 25 years, he thought it had disappeared.

With the money received, he underwent a physical makeover. Gone were the geeky clothes that reeked of desperation, longing to fit in. In their replacement were custom tailored three piece suits, shoes made of the best Italian leather, and the most expensive cufflinks, ties and any other accessories one could imagine.

His mind didn't need an overhaul. He had the highest marks in the academy, one of the perks of a photographic memory. Everything he had ever seen, heard, and read had been filed away, catalogued for future reference. Nothing was insignificant, nothing was forgotten.

His cell phone buzzed.

_Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect. The pool. Midnight._

Jim smirked. Finally, after all this time, his plans were beginning to pay off. All the other bullies had been dealt with. But Sherlock, he saved the best for last.

Quickly locating the number of his number one goon, he connected the call.

"Have him ready at midnight."

"Yes, sir."

He was almost giddy at the thought of presenting himself to Sherlock after all these years. He doubted Sherlock would remember him. Even after the stunt he pulled in the lab earlier. Posing as Molly Hooper's secretly gay boyfriend had been fun, but it risked his exposure. Having Sherlock find out who he was before his big reveal? He couldn't have that. He also couldn't resist.

After shutting down his computer, he locked up for the evening. It was time to prepare.

* * *

Everyone was in place, including the bait. Snipers lined up, guns locked and loaded.

"Keep your safety on. I don't want anyone getting jumpy and spoiling this." Jim spoke into the microphone that was embedded in his watch.

"Copy that." Multiple voices filtered through an ear piece.

He stood behind a door, and waited for Sherlock to arrive. A quick check of his watch, 11:59:45 pm. Sherlock would be here in 15 seconds. If Sherlock had one thing going for him, it was being on time. He was never late for class, not even when there was going to be a quiz.

_10_

_9_

_8_

_7_

_6_

_5_

_4_

_3_

_2_

_1_

His watch lit up at the stroke of midnight.

Sherlock entered a beat later. He scanned the area as he neared the shallow end of the pool. Turning his gaze upward, he became aware of the gallery and the danger that the situation posed. What he didn't see were the gunmen, exactly as Jim planned.

Sherlock held out his hand, the memory stick gripped in his long fingers. "Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this." Gesturing at the memory stick, he turned in a slow circle.

Jim was enjoying this. Perhaps a little too much. He spoke into the watch again, this time to the man he was using as bait. "You're up, John. Step out of the room."

John did as he was commanded. Wearing a heavy jacket, despite the heated room, he stepped out from his hiding spot, and met the shocked gaze of his friend. "Evening. This is a turn up, isn't it Sherlock." Jim's voice echoed in his ear.

"John. What the hell?"

"Bet you never saw this coming."

Finally, the detective began to move, walking slowly toward his friend.

John swallowed hard as he took his hands from his pockets and pulled open the heavy jacket. A bomb was strapped to the doctor's chest. Laser lights flared to life, dancing over the bomb. "What would you like me to make him say next?"

Sherlock's eyes traveled over the room once again, trying to see who else was in the area.

"Gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer."

"Stop it."

"Nice touch, this; the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him." John worked hard not to cringe as he listened to the next words. "I can stop John Watson, too. Stop his heart."

Sherlock turned on his heel, looking in all directions. "Who _are_ you?"

This was it. Time for his grand entrance. Jim opened the door across the room, but remained hidden. "I gave you my number. I thought you might call."

Sherlock turned in time to see Jim as he steps out from behind a pillar.

With his hands shoved deep into the expensive silk pockets of his pants, Jim can't keep the murderous look away from his features. He casually strolled alongside the deep end of the pool, slowly closing the distance between himself and John.

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket-" Sherlock reached into his pocket and removed the hidden pistol. "or are you just pleased to see me?"

Rather than discarding the pistol, the detective aimed it at Jim.

If Sherlock expected Jim to be afraid, he had another thing coming. Jim smiled coyly. "Jim Moriarty. Hi!"

Sherlock tilted his head as he looked closely at the man.

"Jim? Jim from the hospital?"

He started to walk again, not shocked when Sherlock raised his other hand to support the gun wielding one. Jim bit his lip in disappointment. "Oh. Did I really make such a fleeing impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."

When the laser lights flickered off the bomb, and moved higher up on John's chest, Sherlock and John share a questioning look.

"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." Jim stopped at the corner of the pool. "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see… like you."

"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

"Just so."

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant."

Jim smiled proudly. "Isn't it? No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will."

Sherlock pulled the hammer back. "I did."

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

He shrugged. "Yeah, ok, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now." He resumed walking toward John. "I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems. Even thirty million quid just to get you to come out play." True, he could have done it without the bank heist, without kidnapping those people, without strapping bombs to their chests, but then it wouldn't be any fun.

John closed his eyes, the strain of the situation having got to him.

"So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although I have loved this, this little game of ours, playing Jim from IT, playing gay; did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died."

"That's what people DO!" Jim screamed the last word furiously.

"I will stop you."

His voice regained its previous calm tone. "No, you won't"

Sherlock looked over at his friend. "You alright?"

Jim reached John's side. "You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead."

John didn't move. Instead, he met his friend's eyes and nodded once.

Sherlock took one hand off the gun, using it to hold out the memory stick. "Take it."

"Huh? Oh! That! The missile plans!" After retrieving the stick from Sherlock, he kissed it. His voice took on a sing-song tone. "Boring! Could have got them anywhere." He threw the stick into the pool with a smirk.

Seeing an opportunity, John raced forward, and wrapped an arm around Jim's neck; the other, around his chest. "Sherlock, run!"

Shocked, Sherlock didn't move. His gun was now aimed at Jim's head. Knowing the hidden snipers would take their shot if he dared pull the trigger, he hesitated.

John's voice was savage against Jim's ear. "If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up.

Jim remained calm. He'd been in worse situations than this. "Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson."

He chuckled as a new laser pointer appeared in the middle of the detective's forehead.

John stared at his friend in horror.

Sherlock couldn't see the laser beam, but the look on his friend's face was more than enough. He shook his head.

"Gotcha!" He chuckled again as John released his grip. Stepping back, he held up his hands to signal the snipers that their job was done.

Noticing his suit was rumpled, he brushed a hand down his shirt and tie. The pistol aimed at his head hadn't gone unnoticed. "Do you know what happens next Sherlock?"

Sherlock made his voice flat, bored. "Oh, let me guess. I get killed."

Jim grimaced. "Kill you? N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway, some day, but I don't wanna rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. I'll burn you. I'll burn the _heart_ out of you.

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true. Well, I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat."

Sherlock raised the pistol again, pushing it toward Jim's head. "What if I was to shoot you now, right now?"

He was unfazed. "Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." Mimicking surprise, he opened his eyes and mouth wide before grinning. "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really, I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long."

Slowly, Jim turned away. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

As Jim walked calmly toward the door he entered through earlier, Sherlock followed him slowly, keeping him in his sights. "Catch you later."

Only the door could be heard opening before Jim's high-pitched voice, sing-songs in reply. "No you won't!"

Even though the door had closed, Sherlock didn't move. His gun was still trained on the closed door.

John had begun to hyperventilate.

His friend lowered the gun before unfastening the bomb. "Alright?"

John's breathing picked up, coming heavier and harder.

The detective's voice took on an urgent tone. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." As if feeling the weight of the situation, John grew more panicked when the vest wasn't easily removed. "Sherlock. Sh-Sherlock!"

Sherlock stripped the bomb from his friend, having slid it as far away along the floor as he could.

John staggered back. "Jesus." He reached up and pulled the earpiece away. Watching Sherlock pick up the gun, his knees buckled and staggered back to the nearest support; the edge of the room he had stood in minutes ago.

"Oh, Christ." Turning, he dropped into a squat. His back braced against the edge of the room, he blew out a long breath, trying to calm himself.

Sherlock hurried through the door, conducting a quick search of the hallway. Finding nothing, no one, he returned to the pool room. He began to pace, so distracted he didn't realize he had been scratching his head with the business end of a locked and cocked pistol.

"Are you ok?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine. That… thing that you, that you did… um… you offered to do. That was… good."

"I'm glad no one saw that."

* * *

Jim had hidden himself, knowing that Sherlock would come looking for him. That had gone better than he had hoped.

Sherlock rushed by, pistol raised, completely oblivious to the stairwell leading up. Jim watched with a smirk as the detective that seemingly missed nothing, missed this. Sherlock hurried past, back into the pool room.

Jim watched the exchange between Sherlock and John.

He felt himself grow angry when Sherlock worked the bomb from John, kicking across the floor, and when, after John was finished with his panic attack, the pair laughed at the situation.

He lifted the watch to his mouth. "Hold on, boys. Light them up one more time."

* * *

John snorted in laughter before something caught his eye. The bright, red laser beams danced over his chest. "Oh…"

Jim pushed the door open, and began to clap. "Sorry, boys. I'm so changeable!"

Sherlock whirled about, trying to judge how many snipers there might be. He quickly came to the conclusion that there were quite a few as more laser beams lit up John's chest, and several started to climb up his own body.

Jim laughed, spreading his arms wide. "It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

The detective and doctor share a look before John nodded, giving his permission as if reading Sherlock's mind.

Sherlock faced Jim. "Probably my answer has crossed yours." He raised the pistol, aiming it at Jim.

Jim smiled confidently, no fear in his expression. Sherlock wouldn't pull the trigger, he couldn't.

The pistol moved slowly from Jim's head to the jacket that housed a bomb. Sherlock stared at Jim, who smiled.

The beginning of 'Stayin' Alive' erupted from Jim's pocket. He closed his eyes, sighing. "Do you mind if I get that?

Sherlock kept his tone nonchalant. "No, no, please. You've got the rest of your life."

"Hello?"

"Is this Moriarty?"

"Yes, of course it is. What do you want?"

Jim mouthed a 'sorry' at Sherlock before rolling his eyes and turning away.

"It… it's about Crowley, sir. We can't find him."

Jim whirled around, his face full of fury. "SAY THAT AGAIN!"

"I'm sorry. We tried the spell, like – like you said."

"Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you, and I will skin you."

"The herbs, the spell, the spray paint; all done to your specifications."

"Wait." Jim lowered the phone, walking the way he had come; toward Sherlock. "Sorry, wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?"

He looked down at the phone before turning, slowly walking toward the exit. "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." Reaching the door, he raised his free hand, and snapped his fingers. Instantly, all the lasers disappeared.

The door slammed behind Jim. With the phone against his ear, he exited the building, finding his car and driver waiting for him as specified. "Tell me exactly what you did. Leave nothing out."


End file.
